


Careful What You Say

by Ceminar



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Come Inflation, First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slurs, Tentabulges, Xenophilia, nook stretching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:59:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1858884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceminar/pseuds/Ceminar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Name's Cronus Ampora, and this is basically what happens when you decide to open your mouth and gloat about something you know nothing about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another piece dedicated to Tofu7 from tumblr. Yup. Basically partners in crime now. I scream, you scream, we all scream for Cronus' poor abused nook. R.I.P. in Pieces. I'm going to go lay down.
> 
> Also, tags are still fucking hard, so if you see something it should be tagged as that I missed, let me know.

No one ever took you seriously. You boast about how anyone would be lucky to have you in their quadrant- pale, black, red, ashen. Didn’t matter because you were simply the best. 

How could anyone not want you? Not to mention, you chuckle, you were pretty good when it came to pailing. Potential black and red partners should be lining up around the block for a chance to be with you. 

You gloat about how you’re so fucking versatile.

Want a top? You can be as rough or as gentle as you fucking need. Make a troll beg for more, purr like a kitten, whatever they wanted. 

Need a bottom? You could take a bulge like a champ. Ride like you were built for it, which, admittedly, you kind of were. Secretly, or maybe not so secretly, you enjoyed the idea of being taken, of being filled. The bigger, the better. But you would take whatever your partner would give. 

If you had a partner.

But you were a fucking cherry, a bigger one than Kankri, and he LITERALLY looked like the fruit. A virgin who only had experience with your hand and those human toys you had hidden around your hive. You had to admit, they were uncomfortable. Your nook wasn’t built for something so blunt, so… immobile? You were built for bulges, as all trolls were. Something long, flexible. Something that could move with your internal twists and turns and fill you just how you needed.

But you never really put much thought in that. You were a pleaser. You would do anything, become anything for your partner. And it seemed like you would get your chance. As you walked away from your latest attempt at convincing someone to pop into one of your quadrants, chewing on your human cigarette with your hands shoved in your pockets, a shadow falls over you and you feel a giant hand rest atop your head before lifting you off the ground like you’re nothing more than a wriggler, which, looking at this mountain of a troll, you feel like.

With no idea how the hell he managed to sneak up on you as those dead eyes looked you over, you got a good look at their face. It was covered in very familiar face paint. The towering, twisting horns atop their head that must make it a pain to enter any building brought one specific troll to mind. But they were too big to be the Mime. Too old. 

There was no doubt that this one was sweeps upon sweeps older than you, clearly an adult. Apparently he likes what he sees, though, because he says that he’s going to see if you’re as good you motherfucking claim.

Wait. What? Shit… 

This guy was serious, wasn’t he? 

You try to talk him out of it, but then you would just be proving everyone’s point, wouldn’t you? 

You hit him with your most smug grin, even though the grip on your head isn’t as gentle as you would like, and tell him that you can prove all that and more if he wants. You say you can head back to your hive, but he has other things in mind, it seems. 

He takes you to a bubble you’ve never seen before, never in all your time there. A huge hive is before you and he carries you inside, the toes of your shoes brushing against the ground. You pass room after room until he stops in one with walls painted in blood. 

In the corner of the room, you see a slumped figure against the wall. You would think they were dead (again?) if it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of their chest, but you can tell who it was by the shape of their ear-fins and the shape of their horns.

Orphaner Dualscar. That OTHER-Other You.

Fuck. 

Well, at least he’s sleeping… You don’t think you could handle the both of them just yet. 

The behemoth drops you on his lap after taking a seat on his throne, and you realize just how big he is. Standing, you would probably just barely come up to his stomach. Maybe his chest. Yikes. You don’t even notice that you’re staring- trying to take him all in- until you hear his claws tapping on the arm of the seat and a low growl coming from his throat. 

Oh.

He asks if you’re just going to sit there or show him just what the fuck you can do, to get started already before you end up the newest stain on the wall. 

You flinch at the way his tone changes, from a normal, if deep rumble to a booming thunder of a shout. 

You notice that the other troll in the room doesn't even flinch at it and you gulp, trying to calm him, assure him you were only getting your bearings. 

Not that you have no idea what you’re doing. 

Because you totally do. 

Yup…

You trail your finger along the rim of his pants, teasing. Yeah, you've seen your fair share of pail-inducement videos. Slowly, you move more onto his lap, giving the thick, muscled flesh of his neck a teasing lick as you rub over his crotch. 

Getting him off will be cake, you decide. 

You can already feel his bulge starting to unsheathe and you slip your hand into the eyesore he probably calls pants. As soon as your finger brushes against the moistening folds of his nook, he growls, grabbing your arm so tight it nearly snaps. 

By the unamused expression, you can tell that’s kind of a no-go. And he tells you as much, pushing you to your knees on the floor between his legs. Say’s he’s just going to have to up and SHOW a motherfucker the proper ways to worship. 

The idea that you were doing a good job is shattered when he pulls those pants the rest of the way down, and you can see he is either smaller than you, or not even fully exposed. And you don’t know which one you would it rather be, but he grabs you by the horn, pulling you closer to the slowly waving tentacle and- holy shit. Was the tip spaded? And what’s with those ridges? 

You try to glance up at him, flinching as it rubs against your face, filling your nose with the strong scent of musk and leaving a trail of purple across your cheek. He laughs and forces your mouth open with his thumb. He warns you about using your teeth before he starts to slide into you, soon filling you and sliding into your throat. You’re beyond thankful that unlike humans, you don’t have a gag-reflex right now.

He starts to move your head for you with his grip on a horn, groaning at the slickness and the coolness of you compared to himself. Says he likes that. 

Well, that’s just fine and dandy, isn’t it? 

Your fins flare as your gills try to get more air into your lungs, since you can’t breathe normally. Having your trap filled like that is something you need to adjust to and he isn't giving you the chance. 

He’s using you how he wants and… 

Well, it’s kind of turning you on… 

You reach between your legs, palming your slowly uncoiling bulge through your pants, wondering if you can get away with playing with yourself. 

Fuck it, it’s worth a try. 

You unzip as quietly as you can, slowly pulling out your own violet arousal with no sign that the other noticed. He’s too busy fucking your face and- holy shit- you can see just how much more he has. You’re barely handling the tip!

Your nook starts to leak, imagining that monster inside of you. How much could you take? How much would he make you take? How wide would it stretch your poor nook?

He seems to catch onto your train of thought, or had been planning of trying you out at the moment, because he pulls out with a deep groan, leaving you face to face with his monstrous bulge as it drags across your face again. This time you don’t flinch, but a violet flush dusts your cheeks. He looks thoughtful.

"Pro, huh, motherfucker?" He growls out. 

You nod. Best there is. 

He grins, pulling you onto his lap once more. Says it’s a good thing you started preparing already. You try not to look confused as he rips away your pants, tearing them to shreds. You cry out and start to complain, but he ignores you. 

No need for motherfucking clothing when you’re with him, he tells you, rubbing a finger across your nook to test how wet you are. You shiver and squirm a bit. 

You liked those pants, damn it. 

He says too motherfucking bad. Says, but are you going to just complain about that or show him what you can do. You huff and mutter about how you’ll take the clown for the ride of his life as you feel that bulge rubbing up against you. 

You can totally do this. 

You’re dripping at the prospect of it. 

Because you’re a fucking Ampora and you dive into shit headfirst.

You let the tip enter you to start, holding yourself above him to keep that bulge from surging into you. You feel the tip tickling your walls as you slowly slide down, taking another quarter inch, ignoring his annoyed look. 

If you’re such a pro, hurry the motherfuck up. 

You’re so tempted to tell him that pros take their time, but feel that won’t go over well. Instead, you give an experimental roll of your hips. Kissing his neck to try and distract him.

It… Doesn't work for long. 

By the time you make it maybe a quarter of the way down, you’re already stretched more than you've ever been before. 

He scoffs. 

All talk, he mutters, and you start to panic. 

You tell him you’re just getting started, and slide up to the tip before lowering yourself again. The difference in size between the two of you is so great that you’re nearly doing squats, taking in more and more until you’re stretched nearly painfully. He seems to like it, resting his hands on your hips. Those long, sharp claws of his dig into your hips, which draws a loud moan from you and produces a grin on that painted face of his.

By the time you finally get half of his bulge inside you, you’re groaning lewdly, tongue hanging out your mouth as you try and relax. But you don’t think you can take anymore. 

You've reached your limit. 

You ride what you can, those strong hands helping you move faster as your bulge waves, ignored, between the two of you. 

If you glance down, you can see signs of a bump, his bulge moving inside you. The hottest and strangest thing you've ever seen. And the fact that you are seeing it, that it’s happening to you on your first time…

It’s just enough to push you over the edge. 

With a whorish cry, you spill your material across his abdomen and your nook spasms around his bulge, holding the huge mass tightly as you coat it in violet, almost as if you were claiming it as your own… Which you might not mind if you were still in your right pan.

You cling to him, panting as you try to come down, but he doesn't give you the chance. He’s still moving you on him, length writhing inside you. 

He asks if that’s it. If that’s all you motherfucking got. 

He’s nowhere near fucking done and you stare in disbelief as he starts pulling you down further. You grip him tight, tears springing to your eyes as he moves you up and down at his own pace now, faster than you moved, harder, too. 

He says if you’re going to boast like a bulge-slut, then you better up and be a fucking proper one. 

Says you’re a tight little fucker. 

Says that nook is going to be spread nice and fucking wide, gonna drip purple for days. 

Says he’s going to make a fucking bucket out of you by the time he’s through. 

All the while stuffing more and more into you, making your stomach bulge with every added inch.

Those promises, because you’re sure that’s what they are, should't be turning you on as much as they do. His roughness shouldn't have your nook drooling over him, your tongue hanging out your mouth like this. When he bucks his hips suddenly, adding another bit of his impossible length inside you, you shouldn't cry out, arching and pressing your chest against him and begging for more like the needy little whore you are.

But you do. 

And it does. 

You don’t even notice the movement behind you until you hear another voice, deeper than your own, yes, but with that unmistakable accent, groggy with sleep, telling the other not to break the poor thing. 

You feel the chest you’re pressed against rumble with laughter as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer and giving the other adult in the room a good view of your ass, his bulge spreading you, the mingled violet and purple dripping down your thighs. 

He asks if he isn't just jealous that he found a new toy. A younger, tighter piece of flesh to pound into next sweep. 

You glance back and see your incarnation’s face flush, how his fins flare, how he bares his teeth in sudden anger and wonder if you have ever looked so intimidating… 

But you can’t miss the hunger in those eyes, dead as they are, how they look over you. 

You wave your hips at him a little, invitingly, not even caring that they don’t seem to think of you as a person, as a troll. 

The purpleblood gives your a firm spank for that and you whine. 

See, he says, you’re motherfucking fine. 

Loving it, even. 

And the other snorts, turning on his heel to stride from the room, calling back that if he ever wanted someone with real fucking experience, he would know where to find him. 

The troll inside you laughs again, leaning down to whisper that he’s just upset he didn't find you first… But not to worry. He would share you.

And you don’t even mind. 

Pleasing the both of them? That’s fine by you. They were happy, you were more than happy. Not like anyone else paid you any attention back there, from your session or any other. 

Hell, you only got one pity date from your dancestor, and that didn't end well. 

So fuck it. 

You’d gladly stay where you were appreciated.

Your thoughts were broken when you were shifted again. This time, you were pulled off completely and gave a panicked little cry. 

You weren't done yet! 

You still wanted to keep going! 

Had you done something wrong? Fucked up again? 

You squirmed, trying to grind against him, even as your nook dripped freely now, along with some darker globs of violet that was surely blood from your stretching, from the force of this pailing, but you didn't care. 

You pleaded for more and he just patted you on the head, calming you some. 

He wasn’t stopping, he said. Just getting a better angle. 

Oh, you say in return. 

And when he starts to push back into you, your back to his chest, you can see what he means. 

He goes in so much easier, so much deeper. 

You can see your tummy bulge with each additional inch and see how much he’s putting into you, how much is left and just… 

Oh…

He lets you sit there on him, spreads your legs as wide as they can go. You think he’s happy with that. You would be, hell, you are. 

But that moment of bliss is quickly shaken when he hefts you up by your thighs and slides you half way up his bulge, only to slam you down, forcing the last bit inside, hips rolling, and you can feel his sheath rubbing against your poor, abused lips. 

You can’t even scream, but it hurts so good. 

You have never imagined being this full, spread this wide. 

Being treated so roughly. 

To love it so much.

Your arms go back, wrapping around his neck as he leans forward, licking the side of your face, moving you on himself like you’re nothing more than a bulge-sleeve. 

Your gills are flapping, trying to get as much air to your lungs as they can, but you aren't in water. 

You can’t. 

He asks how his little slut is doing, and you can only reply with broken pleas for more. That tongue slathers across your gills and you’re keening, fins flaring as you approach your peak again. This time you can feel he is too, by the way he’s breathing against your neck, by how hard he’s pounding your nook. You’ll be lucky to even crawl when he’s finished with you. 

If he ever finishes with you. 

You don’t even know how long it’s been going on at this point, but it feels like an eternity.

You feel his bulge start to swell, and you know what’s about to happen next. He’s not going to pull out. No bucket. Because you’re his bucket. 

You don’t try to flee, but he holds you in place anyway. Nook lips spread wide around him as you feel the first spurt of material enter you, a warning before he unleashes a torrent that floods your nook and makes you blow up like a balloon. 

You scream this time, not in pain, but in surprise, in shock, and your eyes roll back up into your head. Your tongue hangs out of your open mouth as you release then, and he pumps what feels like gallons of that slightly warmer material into you, your nook greedily slurping it up as he comes. Your own violet unable to go anywhere as he continues to fill you, and instead adds to the swelling of your abdomen.

If you thought before felt like an eternity, you were mistaken. THIS was eternity. You could have double died right then and not have cared. 

When you feel his bulge start to retreat, finally spent, you worry about what’s going to happen next. You try to clench tight, to hold the material in, but it’s futile. 

You’re too wide open now. He doesn't even comment on it. With a groan, he lifts you off his lap by your head, much like how he brought you here, and places you on the ground in front of him, the slurry already gushing out of you. 

He nudges you forward with an over-sized foot and you fall on your front, bottom up in the air, giving him a clear view of his handiwork, how your bulge waves limply, ready to retreat once you've drained more. The waterfall of purple slurry slowly mixes with violet as it continues to pour from you, pooling under you. You feel it soak your chest, ruining what’s left of your shirt. You lap at some of it, groaning at the taste, shuddering as a little more material leaves your bulge, remembering that all of that was just inside you.

You reach back to touch your swollen lips, to see if you really are as wide as you feel now, and you wince, hiss in pain. 

You hear him laugh.

He tells you that if you want to go again so soon, you’re going to have to ask his other “Fishy Bitch.” You groan again in response. 

You want to be up for that right now, but you honestly can’t feel anything below your chest. He figures as much, it seems, but calls the other in anyway. 

You don’t try to make yourself decent. You don’t even try to move. But he seemed to be prepared. You’re fading in and out now, but you can a few words. 

Get him ready. 

Ready for what? Whatever it is, you don’t find out anytime soon. You’re lifted into arms, carried away wrapped in the scent of sex and…

…Saltwater?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your name is Cronus Ampora. And you have no idea how long you've been here. How long you've been out. You groan, try and shift on the pile of bone you find yourself on, but you can’t move. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s because a giant arm has been thrown across your middle. Looking back, you see just what troll it belongs to and the memories, and pain, of the last however long comes flooding back.

He found you.

He took you.

He ruined you.

All in the best of ways. He had you begging for more, had you feeling things you thought you never would. You shift again, realizing that your clothes were missing. You wonder if something happened while you were sleeping, but the ache between your legs is dull, not fresh. A phantom reminder. And he’s dressed. You also realize you’re clean. But you’re also so confused. Because why? You spot the troll with your horns in the doorway, and he holds a finger to his lips, silencing you. He comes over and pulls you out of the others embrace, helps you to another block and sets you down on a desk.

He likes you, he tells you. Not he himself, but the Grand Highblood. He said he personally couldn't give a fuck. You doubt that though. He says that you’re going to be staying there. Leaves no room for argument. Fine by you. You don’t really have much of anything to go back to except Kankri. You might make your way out to see him from time to time though. He was the closest thing to a friend you had, after all.

He holds up a big leather collar. Part one, he says, of being here. Always gotta wear the collar. Okay, you say, letting him slip it on you. Highblood’s symbol hangs from it like a dog tag. He says that piercing will come later. You nod. You can live with that. He gives you the rundown, everything you would need to know while you were there. Limits. Safe words. You doubt you would need any of them, but you appreciate them, were surprised by them, even. When he finishes, he leans down, kisses you. You kiss him back. Your first. When he pulls away, he says that between sessions, he’ll be in charge of you. Look after you.

Yeah… That’s just fine by you. You give him a smirk. Ask him if that means he’ll get a turn one day. His fins flare and he kisses you again, harder this time, teeth nipping harshly enough at your lip to make you gasp.

Anytime Highblood isn't in him, he says, he can be.

You like the arrangement. You pulls him down for another kiss when you hear someone clear their throat. Highblood is leaning against the door frame, looking just as intimidating as when he first saw him, even without the paint now. Says if the two of you start fucking around and don’t get some fucking grub down on the motherfucking table, he’ll eat you instead. Your older mirror image tells you he doesn't mean in the good way, and helps you off the table and to the nutritionblock.

You can get used to living here just fine.


	2. Ask and You Shall Receive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thins are going well for you so far. Nothing you can complain about, except maybe losing track of the days. But when Dualscar doesn't have time to tend to you today, fate just happens to drop someone almost right into your lap that takes over for him. But he wants you to leave, and it takes some convincing to change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Whooo!!! And on the day the first one gets 1k hits, too! This one took a little work, but I do plan on writing a few more. I just don't know how many. So thank you all for your support and I hope you continue to read and support!

Dualscar doesn't have time to tend to you today, but you don't mind. Actually, it's more like he didn't get the chance. As soon as Highblood had his fun, he grabbed your self proclaimed psudo-custodian and dragged him into another room. This left you alone, front still covered in his color. He was still marking you still, making sure you know to whom you belong. Every day he filled a different hole and today, it happened to be your mouth. An easy day, he said.

They still haven't gotten to the piercings, but Dualscar assured you, it would come soon.

You pick yourself up, not bothering to wipe the mess off of yourself as you head to the room you found yourself waking up in the first night here.

How long have you even been there? You don't know. Long enough to get used to the heavy collar around your neck, for your knees to toughen from being on them for so long. But that doesn't answer the question of how long it's been. You start to enter the room when you hear a thud and a swear, causing you to halt. That wasn't a voice you usually heard here... You decide to investigate, and soon, you come across a somewhat familiar troll.

Your fins flutter in excitement at first. You see those nubby little horns and think it's your friend, you raise your voice to shout out for him, but he turns. Dead eyes, yes, but he's wearing black, and has the gray cancer symbol on his shirt.

You have no idea how you missed that, but it's clearly not him. It's not Kankri, which is probably for the best. But those eyes seem to focus on you, to recognize who you are at the same time you recall the name of this troll, this version of your friend.

Karkat. The walking shoutpole.

He gets to his feet and moves over to you and- holy hell... Did he grow? He's taller than you remember him being. Wider across the shoulders, and maybe, is that a bit of pudge? He filled out nicely. You can't help but smile, though, happy to see someone else here, and you move over to him.

But he doesn't seem as excited as you are, from how he continues to look you up and down, continues to take in how the only thing you're wearing is that collar, the cum of Highblood, and several darkening bruises. You call out in greeting and he seems to snap back to attention. He calls you, questioning if it's really you. Of course, you tell him. The one and only. He asks what happened to you and you shrug like you don't know what he's talking about. This is normal for you now. You've had worse from Highblood. Hell, you've had worse from your 'friends'. 

But he isn't having that, it seems. He peels off his shirt and hands it to you, letting you get a good look at what he was hiding under there and it's beautiful. The scars that cover his skin, how muscular his arms really are. It's not just pudge, you realize. He's got that... Muscle-chub look going for him and it suits him. But you realize he wants you to dress and pull the sweater on. It's... Hot. Itchy, since you've forgotten how most fabric feel against your skin, but you thank him anyway. He just nods, grabs your hand and says they gotta get out of there. Somewhere he can tend to you and figure out a plan.

Whoa. What? You dig your heels into the ground, stopping him with a jerk. You can't leave. This is where you belong now. He looks at you incredulously. Here? He thinks you're joking, but you aren't. You really aren't. You sigh, lead him to your room. You promise him you'll explain and let him tend to you but you aren't leaving with him. In fact, you chirp, you might even convince him to stay.

He looks doubtful at that, but once you're inside, once the door closes, he uncatalogued his favorite chair, sitting you on it as he looked you over. He was gentle, almost more so than Dualscar, as he lifted your arms, gently feeling across the bruises, counting them, wrapping the injuries from Highblood digging his claws into you previously again.

You decide to ask him how he died, to break the silence as he worked. After all, Karkat knew how you all died. And last you remember, he was still alive and kicking, leading the pals he had left while riding a hunk of space rock into the new session. 

He paused. Maybe you shouldn't have asked that? You're just so used to being dead, that whenever you used to come across another version of anyone, it would come up in conversation. Hey, wonderful bubble, so how'd you die in your timeline? Not for a second did you consider how hard it would be for someone who just died.

You start to apologize, but he shakes his head. Fork, he tells you. Ran through by a fork. Immediately, you think of Meenah, but he continues, saying they reached the new session, but it had already gone to shit. One of the kids had their pan taken over. Ran him through. But of course, before she could revive him, she got distracted by those fucking two-legged, winged, barkbeast assholes. Didn't stand a chance.

Oh, you say. You mutter your condolences, that you didn't mean to bring it up and he shrugs. Bound to happen. Just means another timeline version of him will go further. You like how easy he seems to be taking it. You're happy, even, that he isn't so upset. But then he reminds you that you had promised to explain the situation here, why he shouldn't grab you and run like hell. Oh. Right. Your fins flutter and you take a breath, ready to dive right in.

He stares at you as you tell him, happily, excitedly, all that's happened to you since you arrived there. You came willingly, you tell him, which wasn't a lie. You did want to come. You had boasted and been called out. Highblood gave you a shot and liked you.

But he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand how you can be so happy about it. How you can enjoy it. How you stay willingly and let them humiliate you. Use you like a fucking... bulge sleeve.

You can't help the small smile that graces you lips at those words, remembering the times you've been called such, how good it felt. How good HE felt.

Its not that simple, you tell him. He wouldn't understand. How great it feels to be wanted like that. They didn't mistreat you. Never. Not once. They teach you about yourself. They help you discover things you never would have even considered if you had backed out the first time. He doesn't understand how... seeing them so pleased with you, hearing their praise as they ruin you, stretch you wide, fill you up, paint you in colors and baste you in fluids, makes you feel more whole, more wanted than anything anyone else had ever done to you.

You weren't ignored here. You weren't truly hated, but they didn't pity you, either. At least not Highblood. Dualscar was confusing, the 'aftercare' he called it. It was pale on the surface, how he would bathe you, treat your wounds. Yes there were.... Flush hints in those kisses he would steal, those tender moments when it was just the two of you and he would fill your nook in ways that Highblood's monstrous bulge couldn't, if he could believe that. And then he would clean you up all over again. Clothing was only allowed on special occasions so far, but that was okay, too. You liked the idea of being readily available to the others.

He continued to stare, mouth gaping slightly. You could see he hasn't fully... grasped what you were saying, but he was trying. But your colorful descriptions seemed to stir up trouble in the younger trolls pants, if the slight darkening of the fabric was any indication. He asks you if it isn't humiliating and you laugh at that. This? Humiliating? There are times, yes, when you feel embarrassment. Having yourself put on display for Dualscar after Highblood has finished with you, bent over his throne as his cum slowly pours from your gaping nook. How your cheeks burn, both of them, when Dualscar has to pull you over his lap and spank you when you fuck up, telling you how disappointed he is in you for dropping something, interrupting in a conversation between mature trolls. Yeah, its humiliating. But its for the best. It teaches you, and you still have much to learn.

And, you add in a whisper, moving closer to him, noting how his bright red blood is slowly starting to creep and show through his hide more clearly, you like it. The punishment. The display. Because they wouldn't do that if they didn't care. If they didn't want you. And you want them to know just how grateful you are for their treatment. How thankful you are for their care.

How you love it.

Poor Karkat is squirming now, trying to subtly press on his bulge. You ask him if he understands now. You ask him if you need to show him. That red now goes up to the tip of his ears, and you must admit, you're starting to feel more turned on, too. Your bulge doesn't move from its sheath, since you never have any use for it unless your fucking your own nook by order of Highblood. But your nook? You aren't dripping yet, but you have a nice coating of violet along your folds and you're eager to be filled.

You catch his hesitation at your offer, how those eyes falter, glance away. You touch his arm, move to grab his hand when he doesn't pull away You're sitting in front of him now. You tell him you'll take good care of him, your big bad kitten. You promise to make him feel real, real good.

You can see his internal struggle on his face. Never, you figure, had he done this before. Probably never been offered. All he has to do, you tell him, is say yes. Say yes and you'll be his good little boy until he's had his fill of you and that breaks him. He nods, nearly begs you to. His voice is quiet for once and its almost musical. You've grown used to domineering tones. Orders. You've never had anyone beg for you.

Your fins flutter as you caress his face, kiss him gently as he leans into the touch. He certainly isn't inexperienced with that, but there is slight hesitation in his movements. You pull away, gently push him back until he's laying flat.

Relax, you coo, kissing him, you're going to take care of him.

Gently, you rub at his crotch, watching as he squirms under you before opening his fly. You consider taking them all the way off, but decide against it. More fuck this way. You lick your lips, looking down and- oh.

It's so RED. You knew you should expect it, but... Wow... You glance back up at him and he's covering his face in embarrassment. You tell him not to. You tell him to watch. To see how much you enjoy making him feel good and wait until he's looking at you between his fingers before smiling, licking up the length of his bulge. He wasn't nearly as big as Highblood. Not even Dualscar. But his bulge was so much hotter than theirs, so much brighter, juicer. You watch your teeth as you suck the tip between your lips and now you're dripping, imaging him being inside you.

You take all of him in one gulp and he arches, whimpering as his fingers tangle in your hair. He pulls and you moan lewdly around him. You aren't even paying attention to your own need now, focusing on him as you suck at him, constrict your throat and squeeze him. You pull off, sliding your tongue around his length, red dripping down the corner of your mouth as you do.

You ask him how it feels so far, and oh god, he's nearly begging for you to continue. To wrap your lips around him again, to feel your throat squeeze at him. You can't help but shudder as he pulls on your head, trying to get you to swallow him again, but you resist. You tell him you have something even better. You tell him... You want him inside you. To feel his bulge squirming, rubbing against your inner walls. You chuckle and tell him he's probably just the right fit and if he wants to see. He nods quickly, pleads for it.

You haven't had this much power over another in so, so long... It's kind of trippy. You straddle his waist, rivulets of violet flowing down your inner thighs as his bulge rubs against your nook lips. You love how he doesn't even question why your bulge isn't out. After all, what use does a bulge slut have for one? Unless it's going inside you, it doesn't matter.

You ask if he's ready, and he's holding onto your waist. He nods in response and you sink down onto him with a loud cry that he echos. He's so hot, you say, grinding against his sheath as his bulge thrashes in your depths. He can't even speak, just holds onto your hips as tightly as he can. You start to move slowly, sliding up to the tip before lowering yourself again, trying to be as gentle as possible, but his bulge is just too much.

You trill, fins fluttering as you grip his shoulders tight. You start to lose yourself, moving faster, clenching around him. He calls your name, and it sounds beautiful to your ears. But his cry was a warning. He's close. He doesn't have the stamina yet to keep up, but you ride him still, almost there yourself. So close, so close... But he finishes first, arching into you as you feel his material fill you, a nice warmth settling inside you. You aren't fit to burst like you're used to, and it dawns on you that Karkat would make a nice partner. A relaxing one., if you got to finish. He can build up to that, though.

He's crying, red tinted tears welling in his eyes and of course, you aren't heartless. You kiss him again, ask him what's wrong and he tries to speak, but his voice is broken. Another kiss, and you tell him to breath, to try again as you rub down his sides, tears still dripping down his face.

He liked it, he manages. Hearing him admit it makes you flush with pride. You ask if that means he understands and he admits that he still doesn't. But, he adds, glancing up at you. He's willing to try it. He wants to... Learn more... With you. And hearing him say that makes you chirp and throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

That's when you hear someone clearing their throat in the doorway and you freeze, the both of you. You look over, shrinking back when you realize Grand Highblood had been watching. You don't know how long he had been there, and you're frightened. You took this matter upon yourself. He didn't give you permission for any of this. Will he punish you? Tell you that he can't stay?

He moves over, pulls you off of your new lover and drops you on your back. Karkat starts to crawl away, but he's grabbed too. Highblood tells him not to move and you cry out, begging him not to hurt him. It was your fault. You did it. He showed up and you took advantage of him. But he pins you to the ground with a foot to the chest. He says he didn't up and fucking ask you anything and that makes you fall quiet, silently apologizing to Karkat. Dualscar is in the doorway now, and he's just watching the events unfold.

Karkat is whimpering in his grasp, his bulge long retracted and shaking in fear. Highblood doesn't look that interested in him. Next time, he says, let the fucker finish. You both stare for a moment and he puts the other down, moves his foot and sits next to you, pulling you onto his lap without a care of your dripping nook. He tells Karkat that you're his special little fucker and only he gets to say when you can and can't fucking cum. So now, it's up to him to fix that.

Karkat is still scared, but he looked a bit more... Interested... Now that he knows he isn't about to die. Hell, you're curious about what he's about to do, and he doesn't keep you waiting long. He tilts your chin up, kisses you deeply, his tongue forcing itself into your mouth like a bulge. His hand is between your legs, working a finger inside you to mix up the slurry deposited by the redblood. You squirm in his grip, grind against him. He's telling Karkat that, if he really wants to fucking know how to play with you, then to watch closely.

He's curling his finger now, and you're almost writhing on his lap, and you feel his bulge starting to move inside his pants. You ask him if he would please, please fill you up. He tells you to wait, sliding off the sweater you had pulled on when offered earlier. Says that's no way to properly thank a motherfucker for getting you ready for him. Thank him, he tells you, starting to tug his own pants down. And you do. You thank Karkat for letting you ride him, for him stretching and filling you. You tell him how much you enjoyed it and how happy it made you to know he liked it, that he wanted you more and his face is completely red. Highblood is pleased by that, by you, and starts to slide you onto him, down to the hilt as his bulge continues to unsheathe inside you.

Oh, you love when he does that. Lets you feel every inch as it comes, as it grows inside you. He promised, right? That you can cum this time? That's basically what he said, and you reach back, tangling your fingers in that mane of hair and he moves you on his length. He isn't gentle for long, and you're stretched to your limit. He makes it quick for you, slamming into your nook until you cry out happily, feeling yourself release as Karkat watches in wonder, his bulge starting to work its way out of his pants again. You ask for Highblood to fill you up, too, and he laughs, pulling from your near vice-like grip and ordering you on your back, a position you take up readily.

He tells you to spread, and it takes you a moment to realize that he means as he gets to his feet. Oh... You open your legs a little wider, spread your nook as wide as you can. He almost purrs as he strokes himself off at the sight, soon shuddering as he cums, spurt after spurt of his wonderful purple dripping into your gaping nook, mixing with the red and violet inside you before he aims higher, grinning as splashes across your chest and face.

A masterpiece, he calls you, looking over at Karkat. He jerks his head towards you. Says that if he thinks he can fucking do a good job, he's welcome to try again. He looks to you pleadingly, and you look to Highblood.

You ask if that means he can stay, and he shrugs, sitting back down and lazily toying with himself now before calling over Dualscar, who seemed to be squirming at the show. He says he doesn't fucking mind sharing you. So long as the teary eyed motherfucker pulls his weight. Karkat promises and Highblood declares that he doesn't give a fuck then.  
You grin, thank him, then pull Karkat atop you, kissing him. He can stay. He returns the kiss with just as much enthusiasm.

Highblood is pulling Dualscar's head towards his lap when he asks if the two of you are going to fuck or not, his hand down the others pants. You laugh lightly, relieved that you can have a moment like this.

Karkat slides into you at the same moment you hear a muffled groan from the direction of the Ancestors and you let your voices mingle with theirs.

 

You can't even lie. The bath after that was awkward. Two of them, yes. You could handle two of them with some ease now. But this was the first time you were shared with three of them. You were blissfully sore as Dualscar held you on his lap, working a lather into your hair. Karkat was sitting on Highblood's lap, presumably getting the 'run down' from him.

But what did it matter? You got to see some of what went on with the two Ancestors. Their dynamics. He's a hell of a lot rougher with your post scratch self. There would be no way you can take all of that, how he bit into his, clawed at him. But he shared him with the two of you. He was the only one allowed to fuck him, yes, but everything else was free game. Ultimately, though, you were the universal bucket, collecting a majority of the material in and on yourself.

You caught Karkat watching you and blushing. It would take him longer to get used to this life than you did. But he would be in good hands. You would be there for him every step of the way.


	3. What He Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Highblood falls into a rut. When that happens, the only one that knows how to get him out of it is his Most Special Motherfucker, also known as Dualscar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to write something with GHB and Dual. seriously. I've mentioned they had this type of deal going a few times, but now we actually get a taste of things.
> 
> Also, I'm so not sorry for the ending. Like. At all.

You've been here for sweeps upon sweeps. In that time, you have seen the walls painted with your blood more than you care to recall. You have used and been used. You have seen sides of him that he would never show anyone else. Not even the two new additions.

And speaking of them... You watch as they leave his throne room, untouched. He dismissed them, is what the mutant says… told them to get the fuck outta his sight so they did. That was hardly odd behavior for your clown. Sometimes, he needed to be alone, to work with those he would not name, even to you. But it still warranted investigation. What good were your peacekeeping skills if you did not use them?

You enter the throne room after the little ones are settled. Just a small assignment to keep them out of your horns, and besides, they could stand to practice their rope tying. Sweeps earlier, you would be surprised to see him not in his usual seat, or anywhere in sight, to be honest. By now, you already know. You slip into the hidden alcove, just behind one of the pillars against the wall, and go through the hall there, surprisingly unpainted, until you reach his secret room.

And there you find him, lying on a pile of books, one of which is across his face. He doesn't move when you enter, and you clear your throat to make yourself known. He still seems more content acting like you don't exist. That won't do. You approach, sit next to his head and pull it onto your lap. Before, you would blanch at just how pale that action is, but you're beyond quadrants now. None of it matters anymore. You move the book, try to have him look you in the eye, but he doesn't. He glances away, bares his throat to you.

That's the game he wants to play.

Fine then…

You growl, grip him by the horn and he gives a pathetic little whimper. You turn his face away, sink your teeth into his offered flesh and he groans. How disgusting. You pull away, licking the purple from your lips as you push him off your lap, the pile, and to the floor, earning a grunt of discomfort. You nudge him to the corner with your foot as you start to disrobe, tossing your cape and armor to the floor in your wake. He stares up at you, and the look in those pale eyes was almost pitiable.

Too bad you were beyond that now.

Your claws tear through his shirt like paper and he whimpers again, flinches away from you. You don't need to speak to show him how disappointed in him you are. In fact, when he plays these games, you don't need to speak at all. The body language, the sounds that leave your throats, that says it all for you.

You continue to rip at his clothes until there's nothing but shreds, and purple tints your nails, light welts forming on his chest. You lick the color from your hand, spit it in his face. The way he looks away at that makes him seem so vulnerable and you scoff at him, sitting there, between your legs. You press your boot against his hip to get his attention, and when he doesn't give it, you place it on his chest, pushing him onto his back. He looks up then. You correct him with an upturn of your lip, barely a scowl as your fins flare.

It's a clear sign to get his shit together and he bares his throat again, letting you see the marks you had made earlier. When you nod, remove your foot, he sits up again, reaching for your fly like the good boy he's going to be for now on. Or else. He undoes them, pulls them down and, after a nervous glance up at you again, brings his painted face to your nook, your bulge still firmly tucked away. He knows that he's going to have to work for it, and tentatively drags his tongue between your legs. You resist a shudder, ears folding down as he does it again and again until he works it into you, violet starting to drip from you now. But he still hasn't worked you up enough.

With a huff, you tangle your fingers in that wild mane of his, pulling his head back. You trail a claw up the length of his throat - another warning to put some fucking backbone into it. But that sight... You grin, an idea forming. Carefully, you pull your pants completely off, standing over him in nothing but your boots, and make a sound of approval at that hungry glint in his eyes. You work his mouth open, those jaws able to bite you clean in half.

You would know. He's done it before. And that was hardly a pleasurable experience. In fact, there's still the scar on your side to prove it.

But he knows better now. He NEEDS you now. You move over his face, his mouth, and give his hair a firm tug, and he works out that you wish to use him as your own throne. He slides his tongue up into you again, and this time, you do shudder, lowering yourself onto that writhing muscle. It's nearly as long as the average bulge, but that's only because he's nowhere near average. You both know that. And as you finally sink down completely, you both groan in unison.

You watch him carefully as his eyes close, his nostrils flares as you work that appendage, your bulge starting to emerge as you rock against him, refusing to let yourself get too excited, to get carried away. You're meant to enjoy this, but that isn't how you wish to end things. Soon, your bulge is sliding across his face, leaving sticky trails of violet across his features, smearing what little paint he was wearing and you move away, pushing him onto his back once more, so he's laying flat. 

He still refuses to look you in the eyes, though he's panting, the material that dripped from your nook staining his face, dripping down his chin and making him look disgustingly beautiful. He wears your color surprisingly well and you glance down. He's still wearing his pants, but you can see the outline of his bulge against them. You grant him a bit of mercy then, removing them much the same way you removed his shirt, but you ignore his quiet hisses as he tries to close his legs, to hide himself. 

You hiss at him, grab his horn, get in his face. Do not dare, you want to scream, do not DARE cower, or try to hide your prize. Right now, he is yours to play with and use as you wish and you won't have him being fuckin modest now. When he tries to pull away, to turn from you, your hiss grows to a roar that shakes even the walls, spittle flying into his face as he shrinks into himself, pulling against the grip on his horn to nuzzle your neck apologetically, to kiss and lick over your skin, your flared fins in a silent plea of forgiveness.

But you have none for him. You shove him back; turn him onto his stomach as you settle behind him. You sink your claws into his hips, eliciting a pained cry from him as you adjust him, lifting that hunk of toned gray muscle until you can see the steady leaking nook you only get to explore at moments like these, the bulge that has on multiple occasions nearly split you in half, that has defiled you, pleasured you, the bulge that you know almost as well as the back of your hand. Every bump, every ridge, and how it's felt inside whichever orifice it's owner would decide to cram it into.

You growl, line yourself up with his opening, and sink into him. You are not gentle. He does not deserve kindness. He doesn't want it. You bottom out, and he arches, bulge thrashing between his legs as he clamps around you, so tightly, you can hardly twitch. Your grip only tightens to get him to go still, purple blood dripping to the floor from where your claws pierce that thick hide.

His nook is always surprisingly tight for one of his size. The pleasure of feeling those cool, velvety walls around you always gets your blood pumping more than ever. You haunch over him, pressing his chest against the floor as you start to pound into him, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the room, mingling with your deep growls, his whines, his whimpers, the sounds of his claws scraping across the rocky surface under him that will certainly leave his chest with indentations of it. You adjust your grip, wishing to claim as much of him as you can. Your nails drag across his stomach, his sides. Your teeth sink into his shoulder blades, which is sadly as far as you can reach, but you make up for it by peppering his back with similar markings.

He's the first to speak, pleading for you to touch him. You raise your eyebrow at first. Touch him? Ah. You had nearly forgotten about the beautiful monstrosity between his legs. Touch him, he asks. You grip his horn once more, pushing his face against the cool stone, pulling out slightly as you reach between his legs.

His bulge strains for your hand, wraps around you immediately as it searched for some form of friction. He shudders, and grinds into your touch, but you squeeze him. None of that. You, at least, still refuse to speak. Only bulgesluts beg. And they get what's coming to them. Quietly, he asks you to play with him, and you deliver another squeeze to the organ that just makes him clench more around your bulge. You won't play with him. But he can play with himself.

You chuckle and he goes still, trying to strain to look back at you, but you hold him firmly in place, right where YOU want him as you give him a single stroke, leading him closer and closer to his own nook, which you are already currently occupying. He gasps when he feels the spaded tip brush against his folds, uncertain how to process the feelings. Not the first time he would have self-pailed, but the first with someone else inside him as well. You don't leave him confused for long. You start to feed his bulge into himself, alongside your own bulge, and once as much as you can manage is in, and he pants, drools, and spasms as if near climax already, you work yourself fully back into him as well.

And he is so deliciously tight now. He's stretched to accommodate not just your girth, but his own, and the sensation of rubbing against his bulge, feeling it wrap needfully around your own, his walls clench and squeeze like a vice makes you decide that the afterlife isn't so bad. Not if there's a chance to feel something like this again.

You won't last at this rate. You don't care if he comes, but you plan on filling him to the brim. You thrust into him again, and he grinds back against you. He can't control how his hips move, if he should grind back against the bulges filling him, or down against the floor. You just fuck him harder, moving your own hips back when he moves them to grind against the floor slamming them forward when he comes back to you. A honk slips from him and you grin, grab his hips, and press his body completely to the floor as you rut him into it, more honks mingling with his moans and whimpers of pained pleasure, the air filled with the scent of blood, musk, and sex.

His entire body tenses suddenly, and he lets out a grunt, a long, drawn out honk as he spills his material, filling himself, coating his insides, his bulge, your bulge, with material that makes it hard to keep the pace you've built. But you never told him to. You never gave him permission. You drag your claws across his hips, sink your teeth once more into his back and he cries out, but that only makes him fill himself more, until his stomach is bloated with it. But that doesn't matter anymore. You're as far gone as he is. You keep your grip on him as you thrust into him one final time, as deeply as you can be, and release, fins folded flat against your skull as your hiss around the mouthful of flesh, adding to the deposit already inside him until he's so swollen, he can no longer lay flat on his stomach, and instead tips onto his side.

When you finish, you feel his bulge uncoil from around yours, and you miss the feeling somewhat. His slides out first, followed by a trickle of violet. His can't retract all the way, unlike yours, because there is simply no room.

You help with that.

Ungracefully, you roll him onto his back, ignoring his complaints and sink your fingers into him with ease. After all, a couple fingers isn’t anything compared to taking two bulges. You swirl them inside him, mixing your colors before scooping out some of the material. He stares, like he really thinks you're going to ingest the slurry. Instead, you force his mouth open, and cram your fingers into it until he licks them clean. You continue to feed him like that until his stomach returns to normal, or at least normal enough for his bulge to finally retract comfortably, the uneaten remains a puddle under the two of you.

You two sit there for a long moment, letting the fatigue wash over you, letting the air settle and catch your breaths. You're the first to rise, and help him to his feet, tangling your fingers into his hair as you pull him down for a gentle kiss, which he returns, large hands reaching to caress your face. He grumbles a thanks, his voice hoarse from the previous events, and moves to kiss you again. He's back to normal now, and you let him, before leading him to his special bath.

That was a good session. But now you want to know what had caused it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

You didn't want to know what cause it.

You're seated behind your playmate, trying for the umpteenth time to work a lather into that thick, wild hair of his, his face already cleaned up thanks to you, as he tells you why he was upset.

A character. A fucking. Book. Character.

You huff as explains that he had stumbled across this series about a human who ain't had no proper lusus, which he had to admit, reminded him of his own upbringing, or other custodial figure that went to this education hall for motherfuckers that make miracles and shit happen with sticks and he gets into all these fucking hijinks and shit there are these youngins that are what humans call 'twins' in this lowblood family and he ADORED the fucking trouble makers. He tells you how he had read them all when he had time to his fucking self and got to the part where there was a fucking rebellion of the grandest caliber and motherfuckers was dying left and right. He was fine with that shit, but then... One of the twins got culled and he just couldn't deal. He couldn't mother fucking deal.

You finally get a lather, listening silently. When he goes quiet, you ask if he's finished, and he shakes his head, shifting to look at you. He tells you he didn't pick it back up after that. That he's almost finished the entire series, but... He can't. He can't make himself finish after that funny motherfucker up and died. He stopped right at that passage and put it down and sulked, your words, not his.

You move to wash the rest of him now, ask if he wants you to read it with him. He looked expectantly, and if you didn't know better, you could swear there was hope in those dead eyes of his. He asks if you mean it and you nod. Of course you do.

The grin that splits his face is priceless.

The hug that nearly snaps you in two is painful.

He laughs, a honk slipping into the end, and he kisses you, tells you you're the best motherfucker he coulda asked for. As tempted as you are to remind him that it technically wasn't asked for, you just thank him, ask to be let down. When he does, you rub over your gills, complaining about his overly affectionate habits. He just slaps your back and tells you to lighten up.

Grand Highblood. The giant fucking wriggler. And your pain in the ass. But you're okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little ashamed of myself to be honest. This had been sitting in my folder for like... two weeks now, finished and proofed and everything. I'm literally just now posting it though... Oh well. Enjoy!


End file.
